


Trivial Pursuits

by vonquixote (propergoffick)



Category: Doctor Who: Scream of the Shalka
Genre: BDSM, Domestic Abuse?, I dunno but it's not a healthy relationship that's for sure, M/M, No actual tiemcocks involved, Swearing, dubcon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propergoffick/pseuds/vonquixote
Summary: Set before 'Scream of the Shalka'. The Doctor and the Master... have a problem.





	Trivial Pursuits

**Author's Note:**

> I am Not Very Good at M/M shipping but I tried it anyway. For the COMMUNITY, dammit.
> 
> A toast: to the memory of best_enemies.

"We never just _fuck_ any more," said the Master, and licked his finger to turn the page.  
  
The Doctor's brandy halted in mid-air, halfway to his lips. He turned his head around slowly, wrinkling his brow, and regarded the android with frank incomprehension.  
  
"You'll never believe what I thought you just said."  
  
"You heard."  
  
"I don't think I did."  
  
"You heard. I know you heard. And you know I know you heard."  
  
"I can't possibly have heard what I think I heard."  
  
"That very much depends on what you think you heard."  
  
"I think I heard you casting aspersions about the state of our - " the Doctor paused, searching for the right word " - association."  
  
" _I_ don't think they count as aspersions when they can be demonstrably proven."  
  
The Doctor put down his brandy and eyed the Master thoughtfully. He'd been expecting this conversation for some time.

Like many of his recent decisions, resurrecting the brute in return for services rendered had proven to be an extraordinarily bad idea. The Master had taken his offer of redemption, a final crack of the proverbial whip, and apparently assumed that such vulgar transactions were the stuff of which domestic bliss was made.

He'd made increasingly lewd demands of the Doctor in return for doing the simplest of things; everything from reminding the Doctor where he'd left the keys to reconfiguring the TARDIS' interior architecture so that the console room, the kitchen and the door were less than thirty miles apart had come at a price of some compliment, flirtation, sweet nothing whispered in the ear or brief, exasperating encounter in some part of the ship that hadn't been designed for it.

Or perhaps the things he did were the price the Doctor had to pay for the things they got up to.  
  
The Doctor, naturally, knew when he was being played, and had been longing for the Master to give up the game. Perhaps this was it. He expressed the supposition, and the Master snarled.  
  
"Hardly. I refer to the need for us to fill our time with these ridiculous and petty attempts to vex one another."  
  
"To which I can only respond by saying that you started it."  
  
"Of course I started it." The Master put his book down, finally, and stood up, folding his arms behind his back and stalking around the table between them. "I am _monumentally_ bored, Doctor. I have been regurgitated back into existence only to discover that I am to remain in a confined space - however comfortable you've finally decided to make it - and watch you squander your most exasperating regeneration to date on exploring newer and more drastic ways to induce the next through cirrhosis and starvation."  
  
"Are you telling me that there's nothing to do?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"There's plenty to do." The Doctor drained his glass. "You can refill that, for starters."  
  
"I am not your gentleman's gentleman, Doctor. No matter what you might have had in mind when you saw fit to resurrect me, I am not going to do for you - at least, not in that sense of the word."  
  
"The least you could do - "  
  
"The least you could do is release me." The Master stopped pacing, and scowled down at the Doctor.  
  
"In what sense of the word?" The Doctor's eyes travelled up slowly, away from the rather disconcerting groin height his gaze had been stranded at when the Master halted right in front of him - the rest of him didn't move. He really had to do something about the lighting - this iteration of the TARDIS suited his mood but it wasn't exactly easy to read expressions in.  
  
"The literal. Or any of the metaphorical. You could allow me my freedom - "  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"Grant me the luxury of death - "  
  
"I know you far too well to think you mean that."  
  
"Then could we at least shag?"  
  
"I was rather under the impression that we had been."  
  
"Without," the Master continued, "my being forced to prostitute myself in order to lure your gaze beyond this vessel's surprisingly extensive wine cellar."  
  
The Doctor sat up, wincing slightly as his head spun and his idle back grumbled, and frowned up the Master's nose. "There's absolutely no pleasing you, is there?"  
  
"As if you'd know."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Doctor, allow me to be blunt. You resurrect me because you claim I've 'earned' it. I naturally assume this is to be the basis upon which our affairs are to be conducted in future, a belief which is only reinforced by the lengths I have to go to in order to attract your attention."  
  
"Because you've never done something absolutely ludicrous merely so I'd notice you were still about before. Not once."  
  
"And when I do eventually manage to lure you away from your revoltingly unrestrained habits, you are - and I speak from the heart here, Doctor, or would if I still had one - a disappointment."  
  
"I..." The Doctor's mouth flapped a little bit, then pulled itself tight as he lurched to his feet. "You wound me. If I've 'disappointed' you it's been because I refuse to play these sordid little games of yours and have done for some time, and the only reason I've condescended to the extent I have is because I occasionally need to do little things like eat, or leave the ship, and you seem determined to deny me these little luxuries unless I prostitute myself to you. Which, incidentally, was not what I had in mind when I reconstructed you, no matter what you've decided to pretend to believe."  
  
"No? Then why did you reconstruct me?" They began walking, the Master driving the Doctor backwards, toward the console.  
  
"Because you deserved it."  
  
"Ah, so it was a transaction."  
  
"Not like that." They'd reached the console, and the Doctor leant back, carefully avoiding the controls. "And I didn't bring you back to be the - the Jeeves to my Wooster, either, before you launch yourself into that little fallacy again. I only asked you to refill my glass because you were between me and the bottle."  
  
"A position I seem fated to occupy, since you obviously didn't bring me back for the pleasure of my company."  
  
"Your company hasn't exactly been pleasurable."  
  
"Yours could have been better."  
  
"Yours makes mine worse."  
  
"Then why choose to keep it?" The Master leant in, moving closer to the Doctor's face. "If you didn't bring me back because you wanted me - in whatever sense of the word - then why did you bring me back at all?"  
  
The Doctor's hand brushed up against the remote control, his fingers ran over the switch. They hovered, for a second or two, then flipped the switch, an the Master lurched to a halt. His face swung open, his protest dying on his loudspeaker as his lips fell away from it.

* * *

The Master came online with the customary judder and start. He'd never get used to that - the flare and jiggle as his vision settled down, the crackle in his ears as the hardware powered up, the horrible blank moment as his mind emerged from storage and loaded itself into his body. The distinction was... unpleasant.  
  
Also unpleasant was the fact that he appeared to be naked, and sitting in the bottom of a deep hexagonal pit in a high hexagonal chamber that looked vaguely like one of the auxiliary energy convertors. He looked up, and left, and right, knowing exactly what he was going to see.  
  
The Doctor was standing at the bottom of the metal staircase that spiralled down the side of the convertor pit. He'd removed his cloak and jacket, and unknotted his tie. He had what appeared to be a voluminous black bathrobe slung over one arm, and an insouciant expression on his face. The sadness seemed to be gone from his eyes - they gleamed slightly in the distant light from above.  
  
"Well?" he said. "Go on, then. Seduce me." At the sight of the Master's scowl, he smirked. "It's not fun, is it?"  
  
The Master tipped his head to one side, considering, and stood up slowly, like a cat, extending himself upward in a long, languorous stretch. He heard the Doctor's breath catch - very quiet and abrupt, barely audible, but barely audible - meant to be heard. Smiling, he stalked past the Doctor, snatching the robe off his arm as he went.  
  
"No. It's not." He swung the robe around himself as he climbed the stairs, speaking loudly enough for the Doctor to hear even though he was probably standing at the bottom like a stuffed penguin. "But it's not fun for you either, is it? You can't cope with power, Doctor, but you won't give it away. And you'll have to," he added as he climbed, "sooner or later. If you want to love me you'll have to let me go, because you can't love a man you keep as a prisoner. You haven't got it in you."

The Doctor watched him go.

He was probably right.


End file.
